


Everything You Want

by vespergray



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-26 03:35:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vespergray/pseuds/vespergray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q knows what he wants. He also knows he can't have it. But when James gets hurt, everything changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

007 shook his head. "I have no idea how the gun broke, Q."

"No idea?" Q said dryly. "You just picked it up and it was broken?"

"Right," James said with a quick nod. "Really, it must have been one of those terrorists who broke it. It wasn't me."

"If I had a pound for every time I heard that from you, I'd have...er, well, I'd have a lot of pounds." Q stammered, silently cursing himself for not being wittier. 007 possessed the uncanny ability to make Q absolutely tongue tied. "You never bring anything back in one piece."

"It's just not my style." Bond shrugged lazily. "In any event, I've returned your gadgets and now i'm going home. Have a good night."

Q briefly imagined Bond's apartment. There was an address in Bond's file and even though he knew it was unethical, Q had drove past it a few times. It was nice apartment complex in a nice district. He imagined the inside to be large and spacious, with only a few pieces of expensive furniture and a fully stocked bar. Bond's place wouldn't be complete without a huge bed to fuck in, would it? Possibly a sex swing and a few chains hanging around, too.

"Oh, wait." Bond stopped short, interrupting Q's daydream. "I need a gun."

Q arched his eyebrow. "Yes, I suppose you do, since you broke the one you had."

Bond smiled that knee-shaking smile and Q wanted to punch him in the face. Sometimes he thought Bond knew exactly how Q felt about him and played on that attraction to get what he wanted.

"I'll give you a new one when you come in tomorrow." Q turned back to his computer.

"Tomorrow?" Bond's voice was almost shrill. "You expect me to go back to my apartment with no weapon? You've got to be joking."

"And you expect me to believe you don't have several guns at your apartment?" Q countered.

"Maybe...you know me so well."

Q refused to look up, even though he was having to clench every muscle in his entire body to stop himself from looking at Bond. Don't look up. Don't look up. Don't look up and see that smile that makes you weak. He flirts with everything. You saw him flirt with a dog yesterday.

Bond rolled his eyes. "Are you really not going to issue me another gun? What if I run into a terrorist on the way home?"

Q sighed heavily. "007, I can issue you another gun, but it won't be a Walther. I'll have to wait until in the morning to get one of those and I know it's your favorite." He mentally kicked himself again. Could you sound more like a twelve-year-old girl? 'It's your favorite?'. Really, Nathan? That's the best you could do?

It was Bond's turn to sigh. "Fine, I'll wait until tomorrow. But if I die before I reach my flat, it's on your conscience."

"Noted." Q watched him walk away. Shoulders back, head held high, stride steady. He wondered what it was like to possess so much confidence, so much...life.

Q left MI6 an hour later. He often pulled longer hours at the office, but he did have a date after all. A first date, at that. Aren't first dates the most important?

He couldn't keep his mind off Bond. Even standing in his closet, his thoughts went back to him. How well tailored his suits were. "I'm sure he never has a problem finding clothes to wear," Q muttered to himself as he held up a pair of pants. "It's all suits. With the occasional tuxedo. Lather, rinse, repeat. And he looks perfect all the time."

Q held up a red cardigan and looked in the mirror. "Ugh, not this. Maybe a blue one would be better..." he rifled through his closet again. "And your bloody New Year's resolution was to quit talking to yourself and yet here you are doing it again."

He pulled on the blue cardigan and gave himself the once over. Better. He wasn't exactly a veteran dater. He had dated some in University, even had a few actual relationships. But ever since he was hired to Q branch, dating had stopped. Completely. The second he was sent to an art gallery to meet 007, the dating stopped.

When he saw Bond for the first time, his breath halted and he swallowed hard. Hands down, he was the most gorgeous man Q had ever seen. Bond's obvious disdain for him when they first met didn't damper Q's attraction to him.

It was Bond's nature- that dangerous, flirtatious, destructive nature- that drew him in and refused to let him go. Bond's quips and barbs about his age were always followed with crooked smirks and smiles that would make a nun quiver. Their friendship was based on their respect for each other's job- Bond was the trained killer and Q was the brains.

Q knew he was walking a dangerous line. Many a person had fallen for James and ended up dead, crazy, or broken beyond repair. Having a huge crush on a co-worker was never a good idea. Especially a co-worker who was so damaged AND straight. Q wasn't even sure Bond knew he was gay. Q had certainly never brought it up in conversation.

He sprayed some cologne on his wrists and grabbed a coat. The date was set up through a friend- a good friend who had a friend who would be great for Q, blah blah. "Well, here's hoping he will at least be cute." Q locked the front door behind him.

He was cute. Not in a Bond way- God, Bond is really not the cute type at all- drop dead smoldering hot would be a better description- but in a good looking guy way. He was nicely dressed and picked a good restaurant- Italian food with great wine. Justin- the date- was a lawyer.

"A lawyer is such a good job!" Q's mum's voice trilled in his head. Definitely the kind of guy his mother would want for him. They talked about movies and music. He found himself only thinking about Bond once or twice. He tried to steer the conversation away from his job- so much of it was shrouded in secrecy, anyway.

"I'd like to see you again, Nathan," Justin said as they stood outside the restaurant. "Maybe I can cook dinner for you sometime. I make an excellent steak."

"Really?" Q smiled. "I do love steak...I might take you up on that."

Justin smiled back and Q knew it was the right time for a kiss. Justin moved toward him and he almost leaned into him, ready for the kiss.

But then he thought about Bond's smile that afternoon, that smile that broke hearts and removed panties. Those brilliant blue eyes sparkling while they argued over the Walther.

Q's heart twisted painfully and he took a step back. "I...I...sorry."

"Bad breakup?" Justin asked knowingly.

"Er...something along those lines." Q lied. "I...I like to take things slow. Is that okay?"

Justin smiled. "Old fashioned, huh? I like that."

Q slowly undressed and stepped in the shower. Justin seemed like a perfectly nice guy. But there was no way he could ever have a relationship with anyone if he didn't stop thinking about Bond.

He closed the eyes and let the water pour over his head. He imagined Bond stepping in behind him and laying kisses all over his neck. He imagined him shoving him against the wall of the shower and...

After Q came, he flopped down naked on his bed. "Well, at least I get to see him in the morning."

He had no idea what the next day would bring.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you guys like this chapter.

he next morning, Q produced the promised Walther. "Please actually bring this one back in one piece."

"Sure thing," Bond agreed quickly as he turned the gun over. "Ammo?"

"Here." Q watched as Bond loaded the gun. "Do you have your earpiece in?"

"Yes. Are you going to spend a half hour lecturing me like you did last time I was chasing a criminal? It was bloody hard enough without you complaining like a little girl."

"I do not complain like a little girl," Q snapped. "And I lectured you because you crashed one of our best Ferrari's while you were chasing said criminal. Lucky for us, we don't have a nice car for you to drive today. Did M give you instructions?"

All humor vanished from Bond's face and he stood up straighter. "Yes. 007 ready for duty."

Q never ceased to be amazed at the complete change Bond could make when it came time to work. Bond looked down at his very expensive watch. "Anything else I need to know?"

"No. Uh, off you go."

As Bond walked off Q called after him, "Make sure you bring the gun back in one piece! I'm not making you another one!"

It was the last time he saw Bond before he ended up in the hospital. 

 

Q was busy all day tracking Bond's location. He frowned at the computer screen. He pressed the button to call M.

"M."

"007's earpiece doesn't appear to be working," Q told him, annoyed. "It's possible it fell out. I am able to track him on the computer screen but I can't give him directions or orders."

"Is it possible he just turned it off? He's been known to do that."

"No, it's still on." Q pushed a lock of hair out of his face in exasperation. "But we can't seem to hear one another."

"What is his location, Q?"

"About twenty miles from here. The basement of an old hotel, apparently. An abandoned one. Our source said they would be hiding there."

"Keep tracking him."

"Yes, sir."

A loud bang in his ear startled him. "007?" he asked hurriedly.

"Q." Bond's voice sounded strained. "I shot him. The other ran off."

"What's your position? I will send the other agents in pursuit."

"I'm shot."

Q stopped, his hands hovering over the keyboard. "Shot where?"

He heard movement, like Bond was trying to walk- and failing miserably. "Shot where, 007?"

"I'm-," another loud noise. Then another.

"007? I'm sending a medic. Can you hear me?"

Everything was quiet in his ear. "007, are you hurt? What is happening?"

Silence.

Q felt the panic toss around in his stomach. He whirled around to the interns standing about. "Send a medic to 42 Greenbriar Road. Now."

They hesitated for a second, revealing in their first real taste of excitement at MI6. "Damn it, now!" Q screamed and they all scattered.

"007?" he tried asking again. "We are sending a medic."

Still nothing.

What if he's dead?

He knew everyone was thinking that. Agents died in the field all the time. Bond had been lucky so far.

Q hated that all he could do was sit around and wait. He stared at that little blinking light that represented Bond on his computer screen. He wished he could tell Bond how he felt, how he cared for him, to beg him to please not go. But the line remained silent.

M's face when he walked in the door thirty minutes later scared Q. His stomach plummeted to his shoes. "Is he dead?" he croaked out. I'm going to be sick. I'm going to be sick right here.

"No. He's alive. They are taking him to the hospital."

Q felt a flicker of relief burning inside him. But... "The hospital? Why not our doctor here at MI6?"

"His injuries are more serious than what can be handled here."

Q wanted to shake M. Dammit, tell me everything! Tell me what's wrong with him. Bring him here, so I can see him with my own eyes, so I can understand that he is still alive. "What does that mean, sir?"

"It means, Quartermaster, that when we got to 007, he was unconscious. He was shot in the thigh and appears to have a broken collarbone. He has lost an extensive amount of blood. Even once he arrived at the hospital, he still didn't wake up. They are worried he might lapse into a coma."

"What are the doctors saying?"

"They don't know." M dropped his eyes, his face drawn. "They are going to do surgery. They are doing all they can. But with so much blood lost..."

Q felt the tears building behind his eyes. He knew he couldn't cry in front of M. It would be extremely unprofessional and might make M question his ability to do his job. He cleared his throat and focused on the window. Night time was quickly approaching. He studied the dirty window pane and tried to keep his voice steady and deep. "Will he be safe there? What if the assailant finds him?"

"Yes. He's in a private unit. We will have a guard outside. I will make frequent visits, as will Moneypenny, Tanner, and you. We are the only ones with clearance, besides his doctors. They understand that. They have worked with us before."

M said some other things, but Q didn't hear them. M finally left and Q stood there, trying to process everything. The room felt stifling and unbearably hot.

He quickly made his way to the bathroom, where he threw up all the Earl Grey he had drank in the past year. When he was done, he splashed cold water on his face and turned off the faucet with shaking hands.

He knew he should go home. He knew he should go home and think about something other than work. Something other than Bond. But he found himself at the hospital, nervously approaching Bond's room.

The guard at the door nodded at him and let him in. Q held his breath and entered the room.

James looked dead. That was his first thought.

His second thought was that even severely injured, he was too beautiful for words. His face was clear of scratches, but it was a sickly shade of pale white. A sheet was pulled up to his shoulders, covering the rest of his body. The machines around him beeped steadily. Q examined the IV inserted in his wrist and lightly ran his fingers over Bond's clutched hand.

He glanced over his shoulder at the open doorway and quickly stuffed his hands in his pockets. You don't want the guard telling all of MI6 that you showed up just to molest Bond while he's unconscious, do you?

"Have the doctor's been in lately?" Q asked.

"Yes, sir. About once every hour. They say nothing's changed."

Q sighed heavily and stared down at Bond. The guard moved away from the door, as if sensing Q needed room to think.

Q pulled a chair up beside the bed. "James," he whispered, letting the tear finally slide down his cheek. "I know I've never called you that before. And I know you can't even hear me. But if can, somehow, I want you to listen. You've never been good at listening." He swallowed a sob. "I'll be back in the morning before work. I hope you'll be awake. You have to get better. You have to. There's so much I want to tell you. I don't know if I'll ever get the chance to. Please get better. Please wake up."

He sat there for a long while, tasting his own tears, before he finally wiped his face. "I have to go. They won't let me stay overnight." He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to crawl in bed with him and stay.

He squeezed his hand one more time. Then the Quartermaster went home to count the hours until he could see James again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)

Q tossed and turned all night. He would fall asleep only to jerk awake a few minutes later, nervously checking his phone. He finally rolled out of bed somewhere around five in the morning. He poured himself a cup of bitter coffee, forgoing the tea. 

He tugged on a jacket and headed downstairs. He stopped at a tiny newsstand and bought a newspaper and a magazine about guns. He rode the elevator up to Bond's room, praying and hoping with every molecule of his being. He knew he shouldn't get excited. He knew he would only feel let down if Bond wasn't awake. But he couldn't help getting his hopes up. 

He exchanged good mornings with the guard, but this time he closed the door behind him. His heart sank into his shoes and his mouth tasted of disappointment. Bond was still sleeping, his eyes shut, his heart monitor beeping steadily. 

Q bit his lip, trying to shove his feelings back inside. Be strong. You have to be. Crying and feeling depressed won't make him wake up any faster. 

He collected himself by drawing a shaky breath and pulling the chair close to the bed. He held up the magazine. “I didn't think you would want to hear me read the newspaper. I thought this would be more up your alley.” 

He opened the magazine and balanced it on his knee. “You know, Bond, they say that if you read to people who are in comas, they might, somehow, be able to hear you. Do you think that's true?” he waited a beat, but Bond's face remained impassive and blank. 

Q pursed his lips. “I know. You would say that you think it's ridiculous. But I'm going to try it anyway.” He began to read article after article on firearms. The sun came up slowly, shining through the window. 

He closed the magazine when a nurse came in. “Hello,” she smiled, checking Bond's iV. “You're here rather early in the morning.” 

“Uh, yes.” Q nodded, holding up the magazine. “Been reading to him a bit.” 

She glanced at Q with a knowing look. “Ah. You're his...friend?” 

He felt his cheeks heat up. Part of him was shocked that she would think he and Bond were a couple (and glad that James was knocked out and unable to reply) and part of him was flattered she thought he was good enough to be Bond's boyfriend. “Um, no. I mean, yes,” he stammered, flustered. “We work together. I um...have to run. To work.” 

He looked at Bond one last time and hurried out. 

 

The next day at lunch, Eve burst into Q branch, her face flushed. Q looked up, ready to ask her where she wanted to go to lunch, but his words died on his lips when he saw her face. 

“Bond woke up!” she announced. 

He couldn't help himself. A grin spread across Q's face. He's awake. “What?” 

“He woke up. I just came back from the hospital. He woke up. It was only for a second and then he was gone again, but he did wake up.” 

Q studied his shoes. His loafers were new and unscuffed, but he didn't want Eve to see the utter disappointment on his face. She could read his feelings for Bond like a book. He didn't need all of Q branch knowing how he felt, too. “He's already out again?” 

“Yes, but the doctors said him waking up was a good thing.” 

“Did he say anything?” 

“No,” she shook her head. “It was only a second, Q.” 

Only a second or no, Q cursed the fact that he hadn't been there. He had never hurried out of work so fast as he did that afternoon. 

But Bond was still asleep and silent when he arrived at the hospital. “You can't give up, Nate.” Q murmured to himself as he plopped down and began reading the magazine to Bond again. 

He read until his voice was hoarse. He finally put it down on the bedside table. “I have to go home.” 

Nothing. Bond's face, so smooth, looked almost dead. Looking at him wrenched something inside Q. He tried briefly to imagine a life without Bond, without seeing him at work, without having fantasies about him every night. 

The thought made him gag. He didn't think he could handle a life like that. 

He leaned over and kissed Bond's cheek softly. The skin was smooth and cold under his lips. “Feel better, James. I'll be here in the morning.” 

 

When the morning came, Q decided to skip the coffee and just head straight for the hospital. He knew he should feel more tired running off of so little sleep, but he couldn't care about being tired. Not when Bond was lying in a hospital bed, teetering between life and death. 

He heard voices in Bond's room as he rounded the corner. His heart began pounding so loud he could feel it in his ears. His throat became dry and scratchy. M was in there. Talking to...

Bond was sitting up in bed. His voice was gravely and his face slightly pinched, but he was alive. And awake. Q took a tentative step into the room, scarcely believing his eyes. He hoped he wasn't dreaming. He was afraid if he made a sound, he would wake up back in his bed. 

Bond turned his head and saw Q. Had his eyes always been that blue? Q leaned against the doorframe, his knees shaking. 

A small smile flickered on Bond's lips. “Ah, Q. Did you miss having me around?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)

“I can't believe you have a broken collarbone and the only thing you care about is getting a shave.” Q shook his head. 

“Just because I'm stuck in this bloody hospital doesn't mean I have to look bad. Some of us care about our appearance,” Bond quipped, tilting his head as Q wiped the shaving cream off his face. 

“007, has anyone ever told you how metrosexual you are?” Q asked in amusement. 

“A what?” 

“Never mind. There, you're all done.” 

“How do I look?” Bond grinned. 

Perfect. Gorgeous. Completely, utterly fuckable. “You look fine, 007.” Q placed the razor on the bedside table. “When did the doctor say you will be having surgery?” 

“Tomorrow, supposedly.” Bond shrugged casually, like he was talking about going to tea. “For my collarbone.” 

“It's still amazing to me that you don't have internal injuries,” Q marveled. “And no signs of brain damage, so far.” 

“Q, how many times do I have to tell you? I don't have brain damage. I feel fine. I'll be back at work next week.” 

Q began to respond and shut his mouth quickly. There was no way Bond would be back to work in a week. His collarbone needed time to heal. In a week's time, he would probably be released from the hospital, but would need someone to stay with him at his flat for a while. He wouldn't be returning to work for quite a while. He was sure M had told Bond that. Bond was just choosing to ignore it, as was his way, and Q saw no reason to rock the boat. 

Bond had only been awake for three days. No signs of brain injury and he seemed to be on the mend. Q still visited twice a day, bringing news of MI6 and various things to keep Bond busy. 

Bond didn't watch TV. He never even turned it on. He wasn't a reader, except for gun magazines, which Q brought for him in droves. He didn't do crosswords. He couldn't draw, since he couldn't use his right hand at the moment. Q wondered if he was going to have to hire a pole dancer to visit him in his hospital room to keep him entertained. 

He liked playing cards, of course. Q would always play a game with him. He was hopelessly outmatched by Bond and Bond knew it, but didn't say anything about it. They would play a couple of games, which of course Q would lose. 

Apparently he also liked flirting with the nurses. Q came in one day to find a nurse practically drooling in Bond's lap as they laughed together. And he felt his jealousy bubble up in his stomach like acid. 

“Alright, you'll be back at work next week. In the meantime, why don't you rest while you're in here? You're too restless.”   
“It's a waste of time, me being here. They should get on with the surgery and then send me home.” He looked at Q curiously. “Where do you live?” 

“Why?” Q asked, befuddled. 

“I just want to know.” 

Q weighed the question in his mind. He didn't mind telling Bond, but Jame's wasn't the type to ask a question out of thin air. “About ten minutes from here. It's a nice little flat.” He hesitated. “Where do you live?” 

“In a nice little flat,” Bond smirked in return. “Who do you live with?” 

“Live with?” 

“A girlfriend?” Bond pressed. 

“Uh, um, no.” Q pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Do you live with a girlfriend?” 

My God, are we flirting? What is going on here? What is happening?

“I don't have a girlfriend,” Bond shrugged, his expression unreadable. “You know all about my girlfriends, Q. You've read my file.” 

“I actually don't read that part of my agents' files. Who you date is your business.” Of course, he had read most of Bond's files. Beautiful woman after beautiful woman, most of them dead. He wouldn't exactly call them girlfriends...more like casual fucks. Who end up dying. 

A small, sexy smile played at the corner on Bond's lips. “Well, I guess I have some secrets still.” 

Q wanted to melt into the floor. He tried to come up with a witty, flirtatious reply, but Bond changed the subject. “Can you bring me something when you come tomorrow?” 

The spell was broken. “Like what?” 

“A bottle of liquor. I don't care what kind. I need something to mix in this bloody horrible juice they keep giving me.” 

“007, I am not bringing you alcohol. The doctor would never allow it.” 

Bond's smile was pleading and charming at the same time. “He doesn't have to know. Just a small bottle, Q.” 

“Absolutely not.” Q rolled his eyes, gathering his coat. “I'll see you tomorrow, 007.” 

“Please?” 

“Maybe-,” Q stopped, throwing up his hands. “Oh God, what am I doing? I'm enabling you. I'm an enabler.” He headed out the door. “I'll see you in the morning, withOUT the alcohol.” 

“Right,” Bond replied, not sounding the least bit convinced. 

Q found himself, an hour later, picking up the finest bottle of scotch he could afford. As the cashier rang it up, he could only shake his head. 

This is what happens when you fall for Bond.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Sorry it's been a while...hope this chapter makes up for it :)

Q was convinced he had to be hallucinating. It was too simply too strange to be real. 

He blinked at M. “You want me to stay with 007. At his flat.” 

“Yes, Quartermaster,” M replied patiently, still scribbling something down on a notepad. “I want you to stay with 007 while he recovers. He can't be there alone, as you know. The doctors have made that quite clear. He needs the help, although we will never get him to believe that.” 

“We couldn't hire someone to stay with him?” 

“It's paramount we keep 007's identity hidden. He is instrumental to our country's security and we can't risk a nurse running off and telling someone about all the goings on at MI6.” 

“Right...” Q floundered helplessly. “But surely he would do much better with a female agent taking care of him. He won't like having a male caretaker...at all.” 

M gave Q a level look. “You know the reason why we can't have a female staying with him.” 

Bond's famous weakness was women. It wouldn't do to have him screwing the woman who was supposed to be taking care of him. Q suppressed a sigh. “Well then, I suppose I'll go stay with him. When is he supposed to be released?” 

“Tonight. We've moved a bed for you into the guest room in his flat.” 

“There wasn't one already in there?” 

“Apparently,” M's lips twitched, “he doesn't have guests that sleep in a separate bed.” 

 

 

Q had a lot of misgivings about being Bond's housemate- but his lust for Bond made him the most nervous. It was hard enough having to work with the man everyday. It was going to be absolute torture to live with him. And it wasn't even like he could go home to the privacy of his bedroom and jerk off. With Bond right down the hall, there was no way he could. 

So until Bond recuperated, Q figured his life was going to be a living hell. On the other hand, his long standing curiosity about Bond's apartment would finally be satisfied. “At least there's one upside,” he muttered to himself. 

007 was not seeing any upside. He was absolutely pissed when Q walked into his place. “I don't need a bloody babysitter.” Bond barked at M. 

Q stopped short, holding his suitcase in one trembling hand. “Uh, hi,” he managed. 

Bond and M both turned to look at him.

“Q,” M smiled. “Glad you're here. I was just discussing this...arrangement with 007.” 

“There is no arrangement. You can send him back home, because no one is staying with me. I'm fine on my own.” 

While they bickered, Q stole a glance around. To his disappointment, there were no chains or sex swings, but there was a lot of very expensive furniture. Bond didn't have many pieces, but what he owned was quite tasteful. Q debated telling Bond later that his flat looked like a gay man's paradise, but decided that might lead to too many probing questions. 

“Q's not going anywhere,” M's face was pleasant enough, but his voice was as cold as steel. 

“It's my fucking life,” Bond bit out, his voice equally cold. 

M stared back. “Q's staying here. That's an order, 007.” 

Q winced inside. Order. Bond's face barely changed, but Q saw his jaw tighten. Bond's stubbornness was solid, but his loyalty to MI6 was even more solid. 

The silence stretched on, with M and Bond staring each other down. 

Finally, M said “It's only for a couple of weeks, 007. We need to make sure you are cleared for duty before we send you back into the field.” 

Bond nodded ever so slightly, his blue eyes unblinking. 

M turned to Q. “Report to the office in the morning.” 

“Yes, sir,” Q replied dutifully. 

Bond was quiet for a long time after M left. He sat on the couch, glowering. Q sat beside him, unsure of what to say. He mulled over several witty comments, but decided against it. Bond certainly wasn't in the mood. “Do you want to play cards?” he asked after twenty minutes had passed. 

Bond continued glaring at the wall. “You know I'll kick your ass.” 

“It's okay. Perhaps I enjoy you kicking my ass.” 

Bond's eyes glittered slightly, like he was thinking of something amusing. “I wouldn't want to leave you unsatisfied, then.”

It felt like flirting. Q refused to think about it. No reason to analyze...banter and call it flirting. Bond would flirt with a potted plant. 

Right....? 

 

By the end of the night, Q was exhausted. 007 was a full time job. After losing several rounds of cards (and two hundred dollars to Bond- he had insisted they bet, the smug bastard), Q was ready for bed, but then Bond insisted they have a drink (or three). Q, used to drinking tea in the evening, felt a bursting headache coming on from the whiskey. 

Bond insisted he didn't need help, but Q helped him into his bed anyway. “Here, let me help you change your shirt.” 

“I've got it.” 

“No, you don't, and don't threaten to kill me. Just hold still.” 

Q pulled 007's shirt carefully over his head and tried to avert his eyes. It was no use. He took in the abs, then hard chest (still so sexy even bruised and bandaged). He hurriedly pulled another shirt over Bond's head. 

“Q, can you try not to kill ME?” Bond groaned. 

“Oh, sorry!” Q blushed, realizing a little more care was probably needed with a broken collarbone. “I uh...thought you might be getting cold.” 

He watched Bond pull a revolver out from under the bed and check to see if it was loaded. He promptly stuffed it under his pillow. Q hid his smile. 

He said goodnight and left Bond's room. He went into the living room and cleaned up the dishes and glasses. He placed them in the sink and started to tiptoe back to his room. 

He turned abruptly and head back to Bond's room. He crept up to the door and glanced in. 

Bond was asleep, all of the blankets kicked onto the floor. He was still, but his fists were clenched tight and his arms were rigid. His pants were barely hanging onto his hips. 

Q stepped back quickly, taking a sharp breath. No good spying on your roommate. 

He decided a cold shower was in order. 

It was no use. As soon as he got in the shower he couldn't resist wrapping his hand around himself. It was too much. He wanted, more than anything, for Bond to come in and take him against the wall. His feelings for Bond...even though he told himself not to think about it, to quit wanting him, he couldn't. 

He came with a gasp and sank down into the tub. “This was a bad idea,” he whispered to himself as freezing water poured over his face. “Living here isn't going to work at all.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile, ya'll! But here is a little update.

Q made his first mistake two days later. 

Living with Bond hadn't been bad. For two days, anyway. 

But on that third day, Bond wasn't in the living room when he woke up. He wasn't walking around complaining about having a babysitter. 

Q frowned, adjusting his neck tie. He hesitated outside the door to Bond's room. What if he was sleeping? What if he was angry?

What if he had...snuck a girl in there?

Q braced himself for the worst, but when he opened the door, he was surprised to just see Bond sitting up in bed. 

“007?” He questioned, puzzled. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Bond bit out. 

Q shuffled from foot to foot. “You...you're usually up by now. Are you feeling sick?”

“Are you my mother now, Q?”

Well, that was a yes. “Would you like me to get a doctor?”

“Can't a person get bloody shot around here and rest without everyone going bloody insane?”

“Nope, that won't bloody happen.” Q replied calmly. 

Bond was silent a moment. His face was lined and tired. Q spied the half empty bottle hidden under the bed, but decided not to say anything about it. 

“You need food.” Q turned on his heel and made his way to the kitchen. 

Luckily, MI6 had brought groceries. And Bond did have some plates. Q made eggs and toast and tea, even though he could still hear Bond protesting all the way from his bedroom. 

Q ignored the obscenities as he brought Bond the food. “Shut up and eat.” 

Bond looked almost at a loss, but recovered quickly. “I'll eat it to make you shut up.”

“Fine. I don't care why you eat it, but you need to eat it. I don't want you to die, even if you don't care about your own bloody hide.” 

Bond took a bite of eggs and nodded a little. “Decent. Who knew you could cook?”

“I'm quite good at a lot of things.” 

“And modest.” 

“Not as modest as you, dearest.” 

Q meant it to be flippant, part of their usual back and forth bickering, but Bond's gaze became narrow and focused. For a second, Q had the uncomfortable feeling of being a mouse stared down by a cat. 

Bond's searing gaze disappeared and he smiled, that dangerous, lazy, arrogant smile. A smile that Q had never seen directed at him before. 

And from that moment on, it was like the game was on. 

Q couldn't put his finger on it or even prove it to himself. But he had a sinking feeling that Bond KNEW. 

Knew. Not suspected. Knew. For certain. 

And had decided to make Q's life a living hell. 

Bond flirted shamelessly, day and night. He made sexual jokes about the tea. He suggested playing strip poker. He insisted he could not get dressed on his own and needed help (Q refused to do that, although it was tempting). He made jabs about Q's lack of a girlfriend. 

It was miserable. It was torture. Q knew Bond was only doing it to be annoying and spent every moment terrified he would actually fall for one his jokes and think it was a real flirtation. 

They had never talked about Q's sexuality before. No one at work knew, even. But now Bond did...and it was awful. 

Q managed to keep it together. He gritted his teeth and prayed for the days to be over. 

And on the last night before Bond could go back living on his own, the levee finally broke. 

Q was so relieved that after so many days of torture, he could be alone again, where he could masturbate in peace and drink tea and watch Star Trek. And Bond could go back to doing...whatever it was Bond did. 

They played cards that night. Bond seemed restless, bored. A little...dangerous, maybe. 

He had started drinking around 2 in the afternoon. Q's nerves were a little frayed, from the days of care-taking and from Bond's irritable mood. He sipped tea while the scotch poured freely across the table from him. 

“Do you think Eve is beautiful?” Bond's eyes stared down at his cards even as he asked the question. 

“What?” Q furrowed his brow. 

“Eve. What do you think of her?” 

“Um...” Q stumbled for a word. “She is quite attractive. Why?”

Bond shrugged only in response. 

Q wet his lips nervously. “Do you...like her?” 

Bond rolled his eyes. “We aren't five, Q. I haven't fucked her, if that's what you mean.” He paused. “I'm asking if you want to fuck her.” 

Q felt his irritation rise. Bond had done nothing but taunt him for days. He knew he wasn't interested in Eve. “No, Bond. I don't want to fuck her.” 

“Why not?” 

Q glared at him and grabbed another card, ignoring his question. “Are you going to fuck her, since you are so interested in how I feel about her?” 

“Maybe.” Bond shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe I will.” He slid a card across the table to Q. “And maybe you can watch when I do.” 

Q jerked his head up, his cheeks hot. But Bond's face was smooth, serious. He wasn't joking around for once. 

“And maybe I will watch.” Q put down the cards, hoping his voice wasn't shaking as much as his hand. 

Bond grinned.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments! :)

Q KNEW that one day Bond would find his way inside his apartment. 

He just hadn't thought it would be...now. 

It had been a long day at work. Bond was finally living on his own again. Q went back to his own place, his own schedule. It was liberating and a little lonely at the same time. 

Work continued on, with 007 shooting little quips his way every now and then. 

It had been a long day. When he opened the door, everything was the same as normal. The small lamp still burning in the living room. 

But...

He froze when he heard a muffled sound. It was coming from down the hall. 

He bit his lip, mulling over his options. He soundlessly drew the pistol from the inside of his jacket and held it in shaky hands. He definitely knew how to shoot. He just really didn't WANT to. 

Gulping down his fear and steadying his breath, he crept down the hall. 

His bedroom door was wide open. A nagging thought entered his mind and he lowered the gun, peering in. 

Bond had found a way into his apartment, all right. And he wasn't alone. 

Bond was in his bed. Having sex with a woman. In his bed. 

Q backed up a couple of inches, his face aflame. Damn Bond, he cursed silently. He knew what he was doing. He had intentionally snuck into Q's house (how? How had he done that anyway?) with some woman, and was having uninhibited sex in his bed. 

Q knew he should be angry. 

He knew he should be furious. 

He knew he should feel like his privacy was violated. 

Instead, he found himself unquestionably hard. 

Bond naked was even more perfect than he thought. How could that be possible? Not that Q had had a lot of experience with hot naked men. And he had definitely never been around one that was as sexy as Bond. 

He had defined muscles practically all over every inch of his body. Even his back was tight and unyielding. The sheets were in disarray and blocked some of Q's view, but he managed to catch a glimpse of 007's ass before the shadows him him again. 

The girl was predictably beautiful and well endowed in the chest area. The typical woman Bond dated or...had one night stands with, rather. Q watched as Bond's hand worked between her legs even as he was inside her, his blond head buried between her breasts. 

It was too much. Listening to them breath, hearing the wet sound of Bond's mouth on her flesh...Q gritted his teeth and closed himself up in the guest bedroom. He laid there on the bed, with a raging erection, trying not to listen to them. 

It was kind of impossible not to. The girl had a lot of intriguing things to say. 

Q knew Bond wanted him to hear. Bond probably knew the exact moment he came home. Being a spy and all. 

And he thought Bond would come looking for him after he was done, to taunt him and rub the whole thing in his face. Or something. 

But he didn't. Twenty minutes later, he heard the front door close. They were both gone. 

Why did he feel disappointed? Why did he feel so let down? It was good they were gone, right? He wouldn't have to listen to the man he was in love with make love to someone ELSE. 

But the disappointment lingered. 

Somehow, Q managed to get a little sleep and trudge into the office the next morning. 

 

 

Five minutes after his first cup of Earl Grey, Bond came sauntering into his lab. 

Q steeled his legs. Steady, Nathan. Steady. 

“How was your night?” Bond inquired pleasantly, his blue eyes glinting. Q wanted to punch him. Or kiss him. 

Q only shrugged, taking another sip of his tea. 

“You could have joined us, you know.” 

Q spit his swallow of tea back in his cup. “I...I didn't know that was an option.” What he didn't say was: I thought you only did it to torture me. 

Bond responded with a shrug of his own. “Why do you think I brought her there?”


	8. Chapter 8

Every time Q put the key in the lock to his flat, he held his breath. 

He kept waiting to open the door and find Bond in his place again. 

For four days, he was disappointed. No Bond. 

But on the fifth day, he let out his breath. 

Bond strolled out of his kitchen, two wine glasses in his hand. “About time you got home. You know, you work entirely too late, Q.” 

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Q rolled his eyes as he closed the door. “This is breaking and entering, you know.” 

“Tattle on me to M,” Bond retorted. “I find it appalling you don't have any liquor in the house, by the way. I'll have to settle for this utterly inferior bottle of wine.” 

“Hey!” Q argued. “That's a good bottle of wine. I paid a lot for it. The grocer suggested it.” 

“And one should always listen to the grocer.” 

“Bond, you haven't went to the store yourself in ten years.” 

“I know alcohol.” Bond handed Q one of the glasses. 

Well, there was no arguing with that. Q sat on the edge of the couch, watching Bond down his glass of wine and pour another one. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I wanted to go through your kitchen and drink up all your wine. Plus, I stole your phone at work and thought I should return it.” 

“You stole my-,” Q patted his back pocket and found his phone was missing. “Dammit, 007. I told you to quit stealing my personal phone. If you keep up with this, I WILL tell M.” 

“Tattler.” Bond reached in his jacket and took out Q's phone. “Besides, this is how I learn more about your life. You seem so boring at work.” 

Q made a desperate swipe for his phone, but of course Bond held it slightly out of reach. “Bond, give me the- what do you mean, I'm boring? I'm most certainly not boring.” 

You are boring, the little voice in the back of his mind nagged. But he wasn't going to agree with Bond, the trespassing spy. 

“There's not a single nude picture on your phone.” 

“Who keeps nude pictures on their phone?” Q asked in exasperation. 

Bond smiled mischievously, taking another sip of wine. 

“Of course you would. Really 007, if anyone hacked your phone they would have all of your...photos at their disposal.” 

“I have nothing to hide, as you know.” 

Q fiddled with his glass. “Do you make it a habit to break into your coworker's homes and have sex on their beds while they are out? I'm sure that's against MI6 policy.”

“No, just you.” Bond replied pleasantly. “I read all of your texts, too. Q, why are you beating around the bush with that poor bloke Justin? He's been trying to get into your pants for weeks.” 

Q groaned. “007, he's not trying to...” he trailed off, knowing it was useless to argue with Bond. “You drive me crazy.” 

“In a good way?”

“Sort of,” Q grunted. “And you've just finished off my best bottle of wine. So your mission here is accomplished.” 

“Not yet.” Bond sat down next to him on the sofa. Q sucked in his breath involuntarily. Dammit, even Bond's sheer presence made him feel weak. 

The wine made Q feel a little hazy. He blurted out, “I can't stop thinking about you.” 

The kiss felt like it came out of nowhere. Q was still clutching the wine glass for dear life when Bond's mouth met his. 

Bond kissed like a hurricane. His mouth was rough, unyielding, bruising. Q had never been kissed like that before- had always been kissed by nice guys. Nice, quiet, boring guys. 

A seriously hot bad boy had never shoved his tongue in his mouth before. 

He had never undressed in front of a seriously hot bad boy and watched as said bad boy shed all of his clothes in a furious heap. Q's erection throbbed as he saw Bond's own erection. 

Q didn't even care there was wine on his carpet, which was very unlike him. He didn't care they didn't make it to his tidy bedroom, nicely spritzed with a lavender scent. He didn't care the hallway was dark and not the setting of any of his 007 fantasies. 

He didn't care. This was better than any fantasy. He clenched his fist against the hallway wall as he leaned against it, Bond pressing against his back. 

Q had read once in a file that MI6's psychiatrists felt Bond used sex as a coping mechanism. His escape, they called it. They claimed Bond threw himself wholeheartedly into sex as a way of not having to actually connect with others. The file also claimed that this was why he had so many jilted lovers that kept chasing him down at every opportunity- he knew how to fuck, he knew how to please...and he knew how to leave. 

Bond's palm pressed against Q's belly and Q's dick felt like it was on fire. Bond's mouth was biting- oh God- the back of his neck, under his curls. He heard the condom wrapper rip open- 00's were always prepared- and he felt Bond press inside him. 

Q's head fell back and embarrassingly, he heard himself groaning out Bond's name. Feeling him inside him made the fire just grow. Bond was whispering, maddeningly- coaxing Q on. 

“You know you want this. Do you like it?” Bond's voice was a purr. 

“God, yes.” 

Bond kept talking and Q kept responding, choking out answers even as his orgasm hit him. Bond kept thrusting into him rhythmically, in and out, in and out, until he thrusted into him one last time with a shudder. 

They fell into a heap on the floor. Q wiped the sweat from his eyes, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. Even after sex, Bond was gorgeous. Not a hair out of place. 

Bond glanced around. “Let's go to your room. Your sheets smell excellent.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this! Up next: Q decides it's time to find out more about Bond.


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